


I'm A Fool To Want You

by FanFicReader01



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Daydreaming, Drabble, F/M, Fantasizing, One-Sided Attraction, Sexual Fantasy, city life, nicholai's lonely nights, post re3remake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24475486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFicReader01/pseuds/FanFicReader01
Summary: I'm a fool to want youI'm a fool to want youTo want a love that can't be trueA love that's there for others too
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Jill Valentine
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	I'm A Fool To Want You

**Author's Note:**

> Suddenly got inspired and motivated to write a quick drabble in this annoying time of not being able to write longer oneshots D:  
> It feels like ages since I wrote f/m (be that valenvaef or valeveira) lmao
> 
> Feel free to listen to Frank Sinatra's song to set some sort of mood lol

The night is ink blue. The stars are drowned out by the city lights. Nicholai sits on his balcony. After the events of Raccoon City, he’s picked up an old, bad habit of his: smoking. Whenever he’s been in severe stress, he’d calm his nerves afterward with a strong drag on a cigarette. When harsh words and fists don’t work anymore, there’s always this stupid little thing that _does_ help.

As of late the source of his stress, or rather infatuation, is that wicked woman. Jill Valentine. She survived. Together with his former colleague Oliveira.

Nicholai hisses, smoke quickly escaping his lips. She had been cunning, and in the end, merciless. Hardened by his own words, he’s sure of it. In some way, it was a small victory for him. The mercenary walks over to the railing of the balcony and lets his arms dangle over it. Down in the streets are some punks but Nicholai pays them no mind. Instead, he takes another drag from his cigarette. He slowly exhales, not caring about the smoke clouding his vision. It also helps clouding his mind. In those smoky clouds a face takes shape. Before the Russian can get a grasp of her, the clouds disappear into the night air. He takes another smoke. Again, the smoke envisions what he wants. What he shouldn’t, but it’s not like anybody can stop him. Unlike his previous imagery, this time the whiteish clouds clad the woman in a dress.

Miss Valentine looks stunning in it. Although unusual, he thinks, for her to wear such fancy attires, it wouldn’t suit anybody better. The dress is sleeveless and almost reaches her ankles. Like a huge cotton candy swallowing up her lower parts, so puffy is the dress. Silk and lace entwine on different layers of fabric. The corner of Nicholai’s lip lifts up into a satisfying smirk. He blows a subtle kiss her way and together with it, he solidifies his fantasy. Miss Valentine’s lips are blood red. Such a stark contrast to the whiteness in which she is revelling, _dancing_. Really out there, dancing on his little balcony. For his eyes only. Nicholai rests his back against the railing and continues to stare at her. He can almost hear her giggle above all the city’s noise. When she twirls around _for him_ , he sees it’s a backless dress. Literally breath-taking. The mercenary’s mouth is slightly agape. His cig is magically still hanging to his lower lip. The smoke stuns him. But oh, how he’d love to touch her. The forbidden fruit. From afar, the skin of her back looks as silky as that dress. But he bets that the woman is covered in scars. Oh, to scrape his nails over them during thorough examination. To hook his fingers into the dress and tear it apart. Nicholai _aches_. For a second he wonders how long it’s been since he’d fucked a woman. Or man, if there was no other option. His short conclusion: _too long._ When his eyes shoot back to Miss Valentine, she’s still dancing. Swaying her tantalizing hips, holding the merc into a hypnotic grasp. Oh, how he longs to grab her hips, drag her onto him. To make her feel how much he wants her, wants to be _inside_ her. He can imagine his hands explore every inch of that smooth skin. He takes the cig out of his mouth in order to drag his tongue over his teeth. His teeth in her flesh. The mere thought arouses him even further. The woman is teasingly stepping toward him.

The Russian is still pinned to his part at the balcony. However, when she inches closer and closer, her face almost against his, Nicholai finds the strength to move, lean in and- _Gone_. With the wind. A cool night breeze greets his face instead. He bites down on his cigarette before spitting it out on the ground. With the heel of his boot he extinguishes the thing and leaves it to rot on the balcony, along with the others. Quickly he gets back inside. His boots get abandoned somewhere outside of the bedroom. His clothes are scattered around the bed until it’s only Nicholai and his cold blankets and his hand restlessly working to find some form of release. But he knows that’s only a temporary solution. He knows it will _never_ be _enough_.


End file.
